


Clark  Kent Ficlets

by zarabithia



Category: DCU (Comics)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-09-04
Updated: 2007-09-04
Packaged: 2019-05-21 06:59:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14910578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zarabithia/pseuds/zarabithia
Summary: Clark reacts to Kyle's death.





	Clark  Kent Ficlets

**Clark/Kyle**

The minute that the League received the strained communication from Green Lantern, Clark knew something was wrong. The same indescribable feeling of impending doom that came to him whenever his superhearing picked up a cry for help washed over him when he heard Hal’s voice shakily request the League’s presence.

The unease was given something to latch onto when Red Arrow verbalized the fact that had rested heavily in the back of Clark’s mind.

There had been no mention of Kyle.

The scattered discussions of his teammates varied from Titan tales to the Parallax incident and every event Wally West could speed talk into the conversation. But Clark didn’t pay attention to any of them, not even the murmured concerns for the second Green Arrow that came from the League Chairperson. From the time of Red Arrow’s statement until Hal’s arrival back at headquarters, all Clark could think about was that first battle with Mongul all those years ago, when he’d first met the eager and confused young man who’d struggled to fill shoes he’d never asked to wear.

When Hal arrived, the expression on his face let them all know that the struggle was over, long before any words were spoken.

Clark didn’t cry. He saved that right to those who had more fully earned it - Kyle’s close companions, his friends, and the man who might have been far more. But as Hal’s talk turned to discussion of "redemption," and the platitude was given that Kyle died a hero, Clark closed his eyes against the rage that had no true target in the watchtower.

_// "I never really fit in here, Superman. The rest of the League … you guys are the real deal. I’m just a pretender, a last choice, chosen because the real Lantern went nuts."_

_"You’re more than that. I knew from the first day that I saw you that you’d be one of us eventually."_

_"No, you didn’t - really?"_

_"You think everyone’s that brave fighting against Mongul? You truly were fearless, Kyle."_

_"Nah. I just knew Superman would save me." //_

Kyle was not the first casualty they’ve lost in their mission to save others. But some losses hurt worse than others, and the memory of Kyle’s confidence in his abilities stung Clark far worse than any block of Kryptonite ever had.

It was a pain he deserved, Clark knew, for not living up to the trust Kyle had placed in him.

Despite the continued murmurings of his teammates about the Kyle’s "sacrifice," Clark knew he would never see the loss of Kyle in that manner. It would never be an act of redemption that had taken their youngest Lantern from them.

He would always view it as the senseless death that it was.

Moreover, it was a  senseless death that _Superman_ should have been able to prevent.

* * *

 **Title:** Surface Changes  


It had been, quite literally, years since the last time he’d laid next to Bruce on the lily white sheets of Wayne Manor. The time period that had stretched since the last Sunday morning - the very same morning they’d hatched the plan which would separate them publicly for years - had only afforded them the rare rendezvous at their secluded meeting spot, and while the tree on the side of that hill had more than once held Bruce upright for Clark's ravishment, stolen hurried moments were nothing at all like the slow and lazy lovemaking Clark preferred. His lover’s skin sliding against thousand count cotton sheets was far more preferable to the scratch of the bark against an unshed protective cape wrapped around them.

On the first morning in years that Clark had been able to wake next to his partner, Clark laid beside the still sleeping man, leisurely taking in every surface change the years had caused in his partner’s body. Bruises that age refused the right to heal were strewn across Bruce’s chest, criss-crossing the scratches that were far more permanent than those gathered from any midnight encounter against their tree. Clark let his fingers travel lightly across the scars he hadn’t been around for, as well as through the gray streaks at Bruce’s temples.

His contented observation of his lover’s body was interrupted when his hearing took note of the rapidly approaching energetic sound of the one rather obvious reminder that the alterations to his partner’s lifestyle went beyond surface changes.

Bruce awoke with a start when the animated form of a twelve-year-old Dick Grayson burst into the room without so much as a knock.

"Dick? Son, is something wrong?" It was a fair question to ask of the boy, who’d stopped in his tracks immediately upon seeing Clark in bed next to Bruce and had taken to turning every feasible shade of red in the color spectrum.

"I - yeah. I j-just … um." Dick looked from Clark to Bruce and back again before nibbling his lip. "Um…Breakfast is almost ready. Alfred said I shouldn’t bother you … I guess he was right. Um…sorry."

Clark bit down his chuckle and let his partner handle the boy to whom he was still practically a stranger. "It’s no bother, Dick. But tell Alfred we won’t be down for breakfast."

"Why not?" Dick blurted, a second before realization hit him. When it did, the boy turned even redder, as impossible as that seemed, and began backing towards the door. Only natural grace kept the child from tripping over his own feet, Clark suspected. "Right. Um, I’ll just go. Um, sorry to have bothered you."

The door slammed shut quicker than it had opened, and Clark waited for Dick’s footsteps to have swung down to the bottom of the stairs before he let out the chuckle he’d been holding in.

"Ah, who would have suspected my Superman to be so cruel?" Bruce teased as he settled back on his pillow.

Clark tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"You hadn’t noticed the enormous crush Dick has on you? Seeing you in bed with me must have ruined at least half a dozen of his best fantasies." Bruce leaned forward, suddenly quite determined to kiss away the frown that crossed Clark's face.

"No, I hadn’t. Otherwise, I would have woken you when I heard him coming, and made myself scarce."

Bruce shook his head and ran his hand down Clark's front with the kind of ease that Clark had missed so dearly during their time apart. "It’s time he learned the nature of our relationship," Bruce argued. "And while I’m sure it will sting for a while, he’s young. No teenage crush lasts forever. He’ll get over you."

"And what about you, Mr. Wayne? Do you have any intention of getting over me anytime soon?"

Somewhere between the response of Bruce’s hands, legs, and mouth, Clark was able to determine the answer to his question a very loud negative.

It was, to Clark's delight, yet another sign of how little had changed between them through the years.


End file.
